


Reasons to be Thankful

by Vertiga



Series: Light is Other People [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Female Jack, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Permanent Injury, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner, Trans Ryan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 13:25:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5292692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vertiga/pseuds/Vertiga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thanksgiving with the Fake AH Crew. </p><p>Set in the same universe as Alone in the Dark, but that’s pretty heavy angst, so if you just want Thanksgiving fluff, all you need to know is that Ryan was kidnapped and his legs got messed up, while Michael got badly burned and partially deafened by one of his own bombs. Oh, and Ryan is trans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reasons to be Thankful

‘But why?’ Gavin whines. ‘I hate turkey.’

‘Because it’s tradition!’ Geoff insists. ‘And you can’t say you don’t like turkey until you’ve had my turkey.’

‘It’s all the same stuff, though,’ Gavin mutters, jumping on the back of the shopping cart like a little kid.

‘The preparation is everything, you’ll see,’ Geoff says firmly. He glances down at his list and frowns. ‘Sweet potatoes, corn, where the fuck are the cranberries?’

Ryan follows them down the aisles, his rubber-tipped cane thudding on the smooth floor, happy just to watch them bicker over food. He hasn’t been out of hospital for long, and even though it’s an effort to walk around, it’s worth it to feel like he’s actually part of life again.

‘Ryan, do you want parma ham and melon to start?’ Geoff asks.

‘Are we going to have room for starters?’ Ryan asks, raising an eyebrow. ‘I think you bought an ostrich instead of a turkey.’

‘Yeah, but it’s feeding a lot of people,’ Geoff says, looking thoughtfully at the bird. It looms out of the cart like some kind of meat-mountain, surrounded by sausages and breadcrumbs and a forest of vegetables.

‘Your call,’ Ryan concedes. ‘I like melon, but I make no promises to eat everything.’

‘I bet you five bucks Michael throws up and then keeps eating,’ Gavin says.

Ryan laughs. ‘No bet. He takes feeling full as a challenge.’

It takes them another half an hour to gather up everything Geoff wants for his feast, and Ryan is flagging by the time they return to the car. 

He sits in the backseat and tips his head back on the headrest, breathing deeply as he tries to stretch the ache out of his legs. He knows it’s his bones that hurt, but his brain insists that if he manages to stretch in just the right way it’ll help. Stupid brain.

His chest rises and falls easily, and he’s grateful yet again that he finally had Caleb do his top surgery. He was stuck in hospital so long with his smashed legs that it only made sense to get it done while he was out of commission. The novelty hasn’t worn off yet; it feels new and wonderful to look down and see a flat chest, and still be able to breathe without a binder crushing his lungs.

‘You doing okay?’ Geoff asks, slipping into the driver’s seat when they’ve finished loading the trunk. Gavin climbs into the passenger side and immediately cranes around his seat to look worriedly at Ryan.

‘Might have overdone it,’ Ryan admits grudgingly. He’s getting used to having new limits, but it’s still frustrating as hell how much effort it takes just to get around. He’s a long way from being able to get back to work for the crew.

Gavin makes a sympathetic noise. ‘You should have told us to stop arseing about.’

Ryan shakes his head. ‘No, it was good. I wanted to be involved.’

Geoff grunts in understanding. ‘Well, you’ve got a couple of days to rest up before the marathon of gluttony begins.’

Ryan huffs. ‘Yeah, got to get my strength up for a solid day of stuffing my face.’

‘You just wait, it’ll be the best goddamn meal of your sorry life,’ Geoff says, and Ryan can’t decide if it’s a threat or a promise. Either way, he’s looking forward to it.

~

Thanksgiving starts the night before, with the crew sat around watching terrible movies and heckling as they shell bowls of peas and sprouts and sort cranberries for sauce. 

It’s loud, the TV turned up so Michael can go without his hearing aid and give his ear a rest, but Ryan likes it that way; the more noise and company, the better. He’s done with darkness and silence. 

His hands still function just fine, and it’s satisfying to work his way deftly through bowls of vegetables, letting the green smell fill his nose. He peels the outer leaves off what seems like a thousand Brussels sprouts and cuts them in half with a wickedly sharp knife, amused by using his skill with a blade for something so harmless.

He takes one of his strong painkillers and falls asleep with the TV still on, feeling safe with his friends around him. They know by now not to let him wake up in the dark.

~

He wakes at some ungodly hour of the morning, sunrise lighting the penthouse pink and gold through the massive wall of windows, jerked out of sleep by a loud, metallic crash.

‘Fuck, ow, son of a bitch!’ Geoff curses, and Ryan turns toward the open kitchen. Geoff is hopping around with a basting brush in one hand, and there are baking tins all over the floor.

‘Drop something?’ Ryan asks, his voice thick and croaky with sleep.

‘Fucking, every fucking tin in the house, right on my foot!’ Geoff complains.

Ryan grins. ‘At least they weren’t full, right?’

Geoff looks horrified. ‘Dude, don’t even joke. If I ruin dinner I’m gonna kill myself.’

Ryan shifts Lindsay’s three-legged cat off his lap, fully expecting the little tabby monster to steal his warm spot as soon as he’s gone. 

He grabs his cane (black, with skulls on because Gavin’s a dick but in kind of a sweet way) and heaves himself off the couch.

‘Want some help?’ he asks, thumping over to the breakfast bar. His legs ache and twinge with every movement, making their typical protest at his first steps of the day, and Ryan resolutely ignores them.

‘I’ve got this,’ Geoff insists, picking up the tins. ‘But if you wanna make something for breakfast, go ahead. This won’t be done for hours.’

It’s tempting to wait, so he’ll have as much room as possible for the delicious food he’s sure Geoff will make, but dinner is a long way off and he wants to take some painkillers.

‘Want a waffle?’ he asks. ‘I can make that without getting in your way.’

‘Yeah, sounds great,’ Geoff says, sounding a little distracted as he weighs breadcrumbs for stuffing with his tongue poking through his teeth.

Ryan hooks his cane over the end of the breakfast bar and starts pulling out ingredients, using the counters and cupboards for support.

By the time the first waffle is sizzling, Jack has surfaced. Her red hair is in disarray, and she’s still wearing her obnoxious neon-green patterned pyjamas. She plants herself on one of the high stools at the breakfast bar and blearily drinks the coffee Ryan hands over.

‘Want a waffle?’ he asks, when she looks awake enough to hear him.

‘Mmmm,’ she says, into her cup of coffee.

Ryan grins. She’s so put together most of the time that Sleepy Jack is one of his favourite things. ‘Chocolate chip?’

‘Mmmm!’ Jack says, a little more emphatically.

‘Coming right up.’

Every time a waffle comes off the iron, someone else turns up, and Ryan has made six waffles before he gets to eat his own. He doesn’t mind; it’s nice to be in the kitchen while Geoff bustles around, making a frankly ridiculous amount of food, and he likes being able to do something for the crew.

‘I’ve got to go out for a bit,’ Jeremy says, when he’s cleaned every last drop of maple syrup off his plate. ‘What time do I need to be back?’

‘Why’ve you got to go out?’ Michael demands. ‘Who the hell works on Thanksgiving?’

‘Pretty much anyone who isn’t American,’ Jeremy points out with a laugh. ‘It’s the German arms guys, with those Heckler & Koch grenade launchers? I think they scheduled the meeting today just to be assholes, but there’s not much I can do except show up.’

‘Be back by three,’ Geoff says. ‘And if they try to ask for more money, call me.’

‘You got it, boss,’ Jeremy says, throwing Geoff a cheeky salute as he leaves.

The time difference to Liberty City means the Thanksgiving Day Parade has already started by the time everyone is done with breakfast, and Ryan flips the TV on and settles back on the couch with a gun to clean, letting it run in the background. He doesn’t get much chance to shoot anyone these days, but doing maintenance on other people’s gear at least lets him get the smell of oil and cordite in his nose, and helps him feel useful.

Jack and Gavin sit and share a giant fleece blanket, the clingy Brit snuggling up next to Jack and pulling the cat onto his lap to serve as a hot-water bottle, claiming that Jack and the cat are both vital sources of warmth because Geoff keeps the penthouse ‘like a bloody fridge!’ 

‘I’m cooking!’ Geoff yells in response. ‘Do you have any idea how fucking hot it is next to the stove?’

‘No, because I’m not allowed to cook!’ Gavin says petulantly, and cuddles closer to Jack.

Michael and Lindsay sprawl across another piece of the sectional, Michael’s head in her lap as he comments on the relative quality of the parade floats.

‘I swear they were better when I was a kid,’ he complains, when a lacklustre giant Spongebob balloon floats idly across the screen.

‘Everything was better when you were a kid,’ Lindsay says dismissively, stroking his close-cropped hair. Most of the burned patches are starting to grow back in, but he’s keeping it all short until it’s the same length again. According to Lindsay, his short hair feels like velvet, and she can barely keep her hands off it. It almost makes up for the loss of his curls.

‘Yeah, I was a dumb kid, but I still think they used to make more of an effort,’ Michael insists, turning away from the TV and hiding his face against Lindsay’s belly in protest. ‘Ryan, they’re ruining Thanksgiving!’ he whines.

Ryan smiles fondly. ‘Well, it’s a little late to save this year, but we could take a trip up north and intimidate some people. Make sure next year’s parade is up to your exacting standards.’

‘No starting shit in Liberty City!’ Geoff calls from the kitchen. ‘Burnie’s still pissed about the alligators.’

‘But everyone knows there are alligators in the sewers!’ Michael says.

‘Well, there are now,’ Lindsay murmurs, grinning.

‘I’ll switch over to football, if you want,’ Ryan offers. ‘Lions vs Eagles has already kicked off.’

Michael flops dramatically back over. ‘Fiiine,’ he huffs. ‘As long as I don’t have to care who wins.’

‘I care,’ Lindsay says. ‘I put money on this game.’

‘On the Lions?’ Ryan guesses. Lindsay has a long-standing habit of betting on any sports team named after a cat.

‘Yep,’ Lindsay says, grinning.

They sit and chat quietly, breaking out into occasional cheers as the Lions absolutely maul the Eagles, 45-14.

‘Christmas money in the bank, baby!’ Lindsay says jubilantly, when the match is over.

‘Don’t put it there, someone will steal it,’ Gavin quips.

‘You leave my Christmas money alone,’ Lindsay warns, pointing a threatening finger at Gavin. ‘Or you’re getting coal again this year.’

‘Everyone’s awful,’ Gavin complains, pouting. ‘Geoff won’t let me in the kitchen, Lindsay’s threatening me, and there’s bloody football on all day! Thanksgiving sucks!’

‘Oi, blimey, it ain’t proper footie, innit?’ Michael mocks, in a horrible British accent.

Ryan throws the remote at Gavin. ‘Choose something else, then, I don’t care.’

Gavin eagerly picks up the remote and pulls up the TV guide.

‘Yeah, it’s only an ancient tradition that every family in America holds sacred, something I’ve done every year since I was a child,’ Jack says solemnly.

‘Aww, Jack, now I can’t change it without feeling guilty,’ Gavin complains, throwing the remote away.

Jack laughs and ruffles his hair. ‘You’re too easy to mess with,’ she says. ‘You really think I give a damn? Let’s watch a movie or something.’

‘Sod it, it’s more than late enough to start drinking,’ Gavin declares, and goes to get the whiskey off the bar.

Ryan accepts the diet coke Gavin brings him, and sits and dozes for a while, letting the noise and the delicious savoury smells of Geoff’s cooking wash over him.

He wakes up when Jeremy comes home, looking flushed and jubilant, a sleek black grenade launcher in hand.

‘Oh, it’s a very happy Thanksgiving,’ Jeremy’s says, laughing. ‘We’ve got a dozen of these babies, and they handle like a dream.’

‘We can take them to the bomb range tomorrow,’ Lindsay suggests.

‘Field trip!’ Gavin agrees, at full volume.

Ryan finds himself looking forward to the chaos. Quiet, domestic days like this are nice, but there have been plenty of them lately, with Michael healing and him out of commission indefinitely. He’s more than ready for something to go boom.

‘Alright assholes, dinner’s almost done,’ Geoff calls. ‘Someone set the table. We’re not eating this masterpiece off our goddamn knees like animals!’

Jeremy and Gavin start setting the table, and Ryan makes his way over, sticking out his cane to trip Jeremy while he’s carrying an armload of plates.

Jeremy’s gymnastic reflexes save him from going head over heels, which is more than can be said for Gavin. He drops his armload of folded napkins and falls over as soon as Ryan waves his cane even remotely close to his shins.

‘Ryan!’ Gavin complains, picking himself up. ‘You’re lucky that wasn’t something breakable!’

‘If it was breakable, I wouldn’t have done it,’ Ryan says with a laugh. ‘I know you!’

‘Oh right, but tripping me with all the plates is fine,’ Jeremy says.

‘Just helping you stay sharp,’ Ryan tells him, grinning like a shark.

‘God, you’re the worst,’ Jeremy says, rolling his eyes as he sets out places. ‘I swear you’re more dangerous with the cane than you were without it.’

‘He has a big stick on hand at all times, what did you expect?!’ Geoff shouts from the kitchen.

Ryan sits and sets out cutlery while the rest of the crew ferry dish after dish of food out of the kitchen, filling their giant table to bursting point.

The massive turkey is set in front of Geoff’s place at the head of the table, and when everything is ready, he comes out of the kitchen and surveys his work.

‘It looks incredible, Geoff,’ Jack says.

‘You’ve outdone yourself,’ Ryan agrees.

They skipped the melon in the end, but there is still a fantastic spread: Succulent bacon-wrapped turkey, sausages, honey-roasted ham, crispy roast potatoes, mashed sweet potatoes, two kinds of stuffing, boatloads of gravy, peas, sprouts, carrots, corn, green bean casserole, fresh cranberry and orange sauce, and cornbread to mop it all up. 

Even with seven of them, Ryan doubts they’ll be able to eat it all, and there are three pies and a giant pound cake with bourbon cream still to come.

The delicious smells set everyone’s stomachs growling, and almost as one, they reach for the serving spoons. 

‘Ah ah ah, not yet!’ Geoff chides, when they go to dig into the food. ‘We have to say what we’re thankful for.’

‘Really?’ Gavin says mournfully, pausing with a spoon poised above a mountain of mashed potatoes.

‘It’s tradition,’ Jack agrees. ‘And I actually mean it, this time.’

‘I’m thankful that we’re all still here,’ Lindsay says seriously. ‘We had a couple of really close calls this year.’ She glances at Ryan, and takes Michael’s hand under the table.

‘Yeah, I think we’re all thankful for that,’ Geoff agrees. ‘I don’t know what we would have done if things had turned out differently.’

‘I guess I’m thankful that I didn’t lose my hearing completely,’ Michael says. ‘Except when Gavin won’t shut up.’

‘Oi!’ Gavin protests, but he’s smiling. ‘I’m thankful that my boi’s okay, and that Geoff feeds me even if he bitches about it, because I’m sick of living on hot pockets.’

‘I’m thankful to have my family around me,’ Jack says, and it’d be unforgivably sappy coming from anyone else, but Jack somehow always makes it work. ‘I love every single one of you, and I’m grateful for every day we spend together.’

Jeremy looks like he’s on the verge of tearing up. ‘I’m thankful to all of you, for inviting me to join you. This couldn’t be more different from my last Thanksgiving. I know I’m not Ray, but I’ll always do my best for this crew.’

‘You’re doing great, Lil’ J,’ Michael says, grinning.

‘I’m thankful that I’m still here,’ Ryan says, the heartfelt mood moving him to be brutally honest. ‘I know I’m not useful right now, and I might never be what I was, and you would have been totally justified in getting rid of me. I’m grateful to all of you for keeping me around.’

‘We couldn’t, we’d never,’ Geoff protests, sounding choked up. There are tears in his eyes, the old guilt at having not found Ryan sooner rising up again. ‘You’re family, Ryan. I don’t care if you’re useful.’

‘But you are, though,’ Lindsay points out. ‘Even if you’re not in the field right now, you’re always finding things to do.’

‘I try,’ Ryan says with a shrug.

‘You’re perfect, Ryan. You’re doing so well,’ Geoff says, tears rolling down his reddened cheeks. ‘God dammit, I promised myself I wouldn’t be a sad old bitch today.’

‘Don’t deny your true self, Geoff,’ Gavin teases fondly. ‘But you’re the last one, what’re you thankful for?’

‘I’m thankful for all of you,’ Geoff sobs. ‘Los Santos, the Fake AH, it was just a dream for so long, and I couldn’t do any of this without you. Oh my God, I have to stop crying!’

‘Well, tears are just salt, right? It’s extra seasoning,’ Lindsay says, patting his hand.

‘How dare you? I seasoned everything perfectly!’ Geoff says in mock outrage, wiping tears away with the corner of his napkin.

‘How would we know? You won’t let us eat it!’ Michael exclaims.

‘Alright, fine! Happy Thanksgiving you animals, enjoy the food,’ Geoff says, smiling through his tears.

The resulting scramble leaves one glass broken and peas all over the floor, but Ryan thinks it’s a perfect meal anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Ryanthepowerbottomguy is suffering through Thanksgiving with horrible relatives, so this is to help them feel better.  
> Also, I'm a fucking nerd - there really was a Spongebob balloon at the Macy's Parade this year, and the Detroit Lions beat the Philadelphia Eagles 45-14 this morning. :D


End file.
